


I Want Your (Hands On Me)

by totallyrandom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And He Knows How To Use Them, Camboy Stiles Stilinski, Derek Is Fixated On Stiles's Hands, Family Dinners, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fowl Humor, Getting Together, Hands, Holidays, M/M, Pie, Ridiculousness, Stiles Has Sinful Hands, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallyrandom/pseuds/totallyrandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no way Derek is going to survive Thanksgiving dinner seated across from Stiles and those hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want Your (Hands On Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the [prompt](http://writemesomewords.tumblr.com/post/142842062656/this-is-going-to-sound-weird-but-your-hands-look): "This is going to sound weird, but your hands look strangely familiar," though that phrase doesn't actually appear in this fic.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://24.media.tumblr.com/e31d6eedd11831f954003adf0e7a91f5/tumblr_n15lu60L3a1stqllto6_250.gif)  
> 

For as much time as they’ve spent on his body, Derek has apparently not been paying enough attention to Stiles’s hands. Granted, he's usually a bit distracted by the likelihood of imminent death. But still, he really should have known. How did he not know? Why does he have to know now? Why today? Why here?

This is a disaster. He's not going to make it. He should leave. There's no way he’s going to survive a long Thanksgiving dinner seated across from Stiles and those hands.

“It's ok, dude. I know I'm a klutz, but I would never party foul by dropping this gorgeous bird, so would you please stop watching me like a hawk? I promise: the turkey is safe in my hands. ... Whoa, that was an unfortunately long string of avian references right there. But you get my point. No harm, all _fowl_.”

The Sheriff groans and Stiles nods at him. “Admit it, dad, you've missed me around here.” 

“I can neither confirm nor deny, son.” 

Stiles sticks his tongue out at his father before turning back to Derek. “What is your damage, Heather?”* 

Scott snorts but Derek just ignores another in a years-long stretch of cultural references he doesn’t understand. “You going to touch every slice?”

Stiles looks down at his hands, which are safely gripping the platter and the tongs, not actually touching the turkey at all. 

“Metaphorically.” 

“What does that even … ” Stiles huffs and turns back to his task, droping one white and one dark slice on his own plate. Then he passes the platter off to Scott with a smirk before leaning across the table with a wicked grin to plop a huge drumstick on Derek's plate with his bare hand and saying “Boom,” like he’s dropping a mic.

“Eat up, caveman. Don’t worry. I'm sure you're immune from my cooties.” Derek scowls at him but Stiles plows on. “You're clearly hangry** and this is supposed to be a haaaaaaaappy meal. … Uh, a _happy_ gathering over a _meal_. … Though first semester of college I might have actually had a Happy Meal on Thanksgiving? That was so pathetic. On the other hand, it's also _so American_ , you know? The ultimate greedy capitalist desecration of a gluttonous holiday celebrating our history of colonization and genocide.”

“Duuuuuuuuuude … ” 

“Sorry, Scotty,” Stiles says, knocking shoulders with him and blushing. “I mean, look at all this amazing food! Yum!”

Derek is still just staring down at the enormous drumstick on his plate when the platter of turkey reaches him. He passes it along to Melissa without comment. 

“Oh my god, dude. It's _already dead_. You don't have to try to murder it with your eyes!” He twists his napkin back and forth in his hands. “If you're that creeped about it, just swap it out for something else.” 

Melissa nudges Derek’s arm to pass the platter back to him, snapping him out of his daze. He just shakes his head and starts in on his food. He doesn't give Stiles the satisfaction of watching him gnaw on the bone like an animal, though. He uses a knife and fork like a civilized person. It's a little awkward. The drumstick almost rolls off his plate at first, but Derek manages eventually. It's a good enough excuse to keep his eyes on his food instead of on those wicked hands across from him. 

He catches a glimpse, though, as he looks up to grab his water glass and is hit with a memory of how that hand looks holding something much more interesting than a fork. He hears Scott sniff quietly before making an inquisitive noise, but Derek willfully ignores him and hopes Stiles didn’t notice. He lets the talking wash over him as he slowly works his way through the mound of holiday food on his plate. 

Everything is fine for a while. Until dessert. All of a sudden Stiles is moaning around forkfuls of pie, and Derek is lost in memories of when he's heard those sounds before. And now Scott is definitely sniffing loudly and shooting Derek funny looks. But Scott clearly hasn’t figured it out yet because there’s no way he’d be subtle if he knew.

Not soon enough it’s time for Melissa and the Sheriff to head in for their shifts. Then Scott gets an emergency vet call as they’re clearing the table. Derek moves toward the door to flee but Stiles just wraps long fingers around his arm and drags him to the kitchen. Derek closes his eyes to hide how they’re flashing and focuses on calming breaths. 

“You ok dude? If you really have somewhere to be, just go. I can clean this up myself. It’s not like I have anything else to do tonight.” 

He sounds so small, and it breaks Derek’s resolve. He shoves the last piece of pie at Stiles to distract him. Derek knows it’s his favorite, and there’s no room left in the fridge anyway. He realizes the tactical error a moment too late. Now Stiles is moaning around his fork again before scooping up the last bite and offering it to Derek. 

He can’t take it anymore. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he has crowded Stiles against the counter and grabbed the pie from him, letting it clatter into the sink. 

“Whaaaaaaaat?” Stiles’s hand is trapped between them on Derek's chest, not pushing him away but twitching like he wants to explore the soft fabric under his fingers. “What's happening here?” he whispers. 

“What was your job this semester?” 

Stiles just gapes at him, thrown by the unexpected change in subject. 

“Not still shelving books.” 

“Yeah, no, I had to stop. The library payed shit and gave me so many paper cuts. Bad for business, you know.” 

“ _Business_?” 

“What? No, I mean … it's just a saying. I was joking. I … yeah … Of course I'm still at the library.” 

“Lie.” Derek steps back then and Stiles lets out a relieved sigh. But it's cut short when Derek grabs his hand and starts tracing over it lightly, making Stiles shiver. 

“What … ”

“Can't believe I didn't see.” 

“See what?”

“These hands,” he sighs. 

“Uh … ” 

“They were going to saw off my arm.” 

“Thank god that never happened,” Stiles chuckles nervously. 

“They held me up in the pool. Drove me away from danger.” 

“Is this … are you trying to _thank my hands_?” 

“These hands punched me. More than once,” he says with a reverent chuckle.

“Oh. ... Sorry?”

“These hands.” He holds on tightly, out of words for the moment.

“Uh … ” Stiles licks his lips nervously. 

Derek groans. “And that mouth.”

Stiles drags in a shaky breath, reaching his free hand up to touch his lips. 

“The things I've seen your hands do,” he groans. “How many people have seen it, Stiles? Ten? A hundred? How many people saw?” 

“Saw what?” 

“The things I've done while watching these hands.” 

“What?” 

“Imagining them on me. As I watched over and over. I watched you.” 

“You … _what_ ??? … You … How … _You watched_?!!”

Derek leans in and growls softly in his ear, “Didn’t know it was you. Should have known.” 

“Oh my god. Let go. Let go! I need to go crawl in a hole and die now and you’re in my way.” But Derek doesn’t let go. He’s not even listening. Stiles’s words just wash over him, his voice a background hum as he gets lost in his memories of watching those hands.

“I don't know whether to beg forgiveness or just beg. _Stiles_ … ”

Stiles leans back with a gasp and just stares at Derek's face. He looks down at where their hands are clasped. Then back at Derek’s face in disbelief. He takes a deep breath and slips his hand from Derek’s grasp.

Derek makes a quiet, disappointed sound and nods. Before he can step away and apologize, Stiles lays both hands gently on Derek's face and leans in slowly, giving him time to pull away. 

Derek closes the gap, kissing him hesitantly at first, stunned at the thought of Stiles wanting to touch him. He presses their lips together softly, reverently. Can’t help leaning into Stiles, winding arms around him and kissing the breath from him.

When he pulls back to gulp in air, Stiles tucks his head under Derek’s chin and pets his cheek, murmuring, “You don’t know how long these hands have been waiting to get ahold of you, Derek. These hands have lots of plans. These hands want to be introduced around to your hands’ friends.”

“Ridiculous,” Derek laughs into Stiles’s hair. “Your hands are welcome to get to know anywhere they like.” 

Stiles traces Derek’s bottom lip with one finger. “Anywhere?” 

Derek kisses the finger and nods. Stiles stutters the finger down Derek’s chin, neck, chest and Derek just nods and nods. When the finger stalls above the button on Derek’s jeans, his other hand skims down Derek’s back and latches onto his ass. Derek nods again with a groan.

Stiles laughs into Derek’s neck, but his hands have stopped moving and he smells nervous. Derek leans back to look at him, cupping his cheek for a moment before sweeping the hand down Stiles’s neck and over his chest, grazing a nipple along the way. He slides it down past the waistband and cups Stiles with a gentle squeeze. 

Then there are frantic hands everywhere. Digging in. Unbuttoning. Tugging at clothes. Scratching pink trails down pale skin. Kneading. Skimming across planes. Squeezing curves. Pulling hair. Pushing arms down to the floor. Tugging legs around to hold on tight. Pressing in. Tugging open. Clenching. Gripping tightly. Then falling loosely to their sides as they gasp, exhausted. 

Stiles brings a sticky hand up to his mouth to taste and Derek nips at his neck. “Those hands will be the death of me.”

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, but it’s only the _little death_.”***

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [the Sinéad O’Connor song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dv0yArscGiA). 
> 
> But [“And These Hands” by Rose Polenzani](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQSWUm79KTA) is what I was thinking of originally. 
> 
> * _[Heathers](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0097493/?ref_=ttqt_qt_tt)_ : <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfNjoAHhzyU>
> 
> ** [Being hangry is apparently a scientific fact.](https://www.theguardian.com/science/shortcuts/2014/apr/15/hangry-stupid-made-up-word-angry-hungry)
> 
> *** <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_petite_mort>


End file.
